


What Dreams May Come

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Chuck Lives, Crack. Seriously just crack., M/M, Post-Pitfall, This is your brain on drugs.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 09:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1853269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck may have lived through Operation: Pitfall, but he's stuck in Medical and coasting on a metric fuckton of drugs. With nothing but time weighing on his stoned-out mind, he starts to think... very interesting thoughts. I finally managed cracky ridiculousness!</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

It's not like Chuck reaches his conclusion right away. He used to be the leap-before-you-look type, but he likes to think surviving -- _barely_ surviving -- an apocalypse has knocked him down a peg or two there. Two weeks ago, if he had a shot, he took it. Now, when he has a shot, he recognizes the shot, makes a plan, and then... _probably_... takes it. If it seems like a good idea on further reflection.

So, when he concludes that Raleigh Becket is a fucking vampire, he doesn't immediately act upon this intelligence by breaking one of the shitty hospital chairs and staking the undead freak with the splintered leg, then pissing on the resulting ashes, just to be sure. Progress.

His Spidey senses first tingled on Post-Pitfall Day 3 when he roused from his medically induced coma to find a pale, hollow-eyed, slumping Becket passed out in a chair by the bed. For a long, strangely fraught moment, Chuck was quite sure the has-been wasn't breathing. And the blood slowly trickling out of one ear to drip onto the shoulder of the lumpy, shapeless sweater bulking around the still body wasn't reassuring, either.

His first thought wasn't vampire. His first thought was that Raleigh Becket had survived a thermonuclear explosion and piloting solo for a second time and a suicidal drop into another dimension _and_ serious oxygen deprivation only to cark it at Chuck's quiet, harmless bedside. He opened his mouth to shout for a nurse, but before he could even begin to think what to shout, the motionless body stirred.

With a yawn and a stretch, the has-been seemed to slowly come to life, then sat up quickly when he realized Chuck was staring at him.

"Chuck? Oh, man, am I glad to see you awake!" The big idiot jumped up and stood unbearably close to the edge of Chuck's bed. "Can you talk? Are you okay? Should I call a nurse?"

And because he was drugged to the gills and confused as hell, all Chuck could say in response was, "Jesus, mate, you looked fucking dead."

Becket blinked, taken aback. " _I_ looked dead?"

He felt his cheeks flush and scowled, seemingly helpless to stop his mouth from running. "You weren't breathing. And your brain seems to be leaking."

Eyes wide, the has-been took a step back. "Chuck? Are... are you okay? I think I should go get your doctor. Or your dad."

Grunting, he gestured weakly at the seeping ear, then was appalled by exactly how weak he was. God, what had he done to himself? Or... what had the escape pod done to him while it tried to ride out Striker's detonation?

Wary, Becket slowly raised a hand to his ear, then realized that, duh, it was bleeding. Vindicated, Chuck smirked at the dumbass look on the dumbass's face.

"Toldja."

The whacker rolled his eyes. "Well, I did shoot up out of the Throat from another dimension and up from the bottom of the ocean without stopping to decompress. The escape pods are pressurized, but not _that_ pressurized." Shrugging, the idiot wiped his blood-tipped finger on his civvies. "The doctor said I'd probably have some minor side effects."

"Hn." Narrowing his eyes, Chuck looked the bloke over critically. "Still doesn't explain why you weren't breathing."

"I was!"

"Whatever. Fuck, I'm thirsty."

"Oh, here--"

And that had ended that.

Chuck would've never given it another thought if Becket had done as expected and stayed away after that. But no. The big idiot kept stopping by, and it didn't take Chuck long to realize that, after that first daytime visit, Raleigh only ever visited at night.

There was always some excuse.

"Seriously, Becket. It's two fucking A.M. What the fuck?"

"You cuss a lot more since you blew up. What, did your verbal filter break in the explosion or something?"

Chuck's eyes narrowed. "Two. Fucking. A. M."

The whacker rolled his eyes. "I couldn't sleep, so I went to raid the mess. I was gonna give you the piece of chocolate cake I snuck out of Tendo's secret stash in the back of the fridge, but if you're just gonna--"

"You have cake? Why the fuck didn't you just say so?"

Or the time Chuck woke up to find Becket curled up in that hideously uncomfortable-looking chair with a real hardback book that looked big enough to stop a crime with. After a glance at the time readout on his heart monitor, Chuck shot the idiot a glare.

"You're seriously gonna tell me you like to read the dictionary at four-thirty in the morning."

Becket startled, nearly dropping the book that, okay, wasn't _quite_ as big as an engine block but close enough for comparison. "It's not a dictionary. It's a novel."

When the has-been hefted the over-sized doorstop up enough for Chuck to see the cover, he obligingly read the title out loud. " _Empire of the Sun_." He frowned. "What, you didn't get enough aliens falling into another dimension?"

Blinking, the bloke tilted his head to one side. "I don't... aliens?"

Equally confused, Chuck scowled. "What else would build an empire on the sun?"

At that, the bastard had the sack to snort a laugh. "Ha, no. It's about World War II. Good grief." He shook his head. "I'm a little afraid to ask why you thought it was a dictionary."

Peeved -- and yes, all right, more than a little embarrassed about the whole alien assumption thing, but that was a seriously fucking stupid name for a book about war, and he had no doubt some asshole was out there right now, writing about the kaiju war just past and naming it something ridiculous and non-specific -- Chuck grunted and would have crossed his arms if he wasn't so damned weak and hooked up to so damn many monitors. Worse than being in a fucking drivesuit.

Grumbling, he muttered something about it being a seriously fucking huge book, but Becket did the head-tilting thing again. It was... adorable. Stupid-looking, but adorable.

"It really isn't." The goofy fuck hefted it and seemed to measure it with his eyes. "I mean, it's not like _War and Peace_ or the collected works of Shakespeare or something." Those eyes -- a strangely electric shade of blue, now that Chuck was actually looking at them -- pinned him with curiosity. "What's the biggest book you've ever read, then, if you think this one's so huge?"

Uncomfortable and blaming it on the ache settling into his wrenched back from straining to keep eyeballing the idiot in the chair, he reached for the controls and trundled up the head of his bed. He felt stupid having this pointless conversation lying flat on his back.

"How the hell should I know? I've never read anything that wasn't on a tablet, and most of that was either for the academy or, fuck, schematics and manuals and the like."

Electric blue eyes widened. "Seriously? Oh, man, you don't know what you're missing. There's just something about the weight of a book, the feeling of accomplishment as you physically turn the pages, how the words look on actual printed paper." The idiot grinned crookedly and fanned a few pages with his thumb. "Totally different experience from reading on a screen. You should give it a try sometime."

Unable to help himself -- again, he blamed his lack of a verbal filter on the meds -- he grunted. "God, you're old."

Strangely enough, that seemed to actually score a hit. Becket's jaw tightened, some of the electricity going out of his eyes. Feeling a little bad -- though it was only after the whole "Raleigh's a vampire" thought occurred to him that he realized what might have been upsetting in the statement -- Chuck sighed and slumped back against his pillows, shifting awkwardly when he realized they'd slid to uncomfortable places when he'd sat up. To his surprise, Becket put aside his giant tome and stood to rearrange them for him, even going so far as to fluff the little round one stuffed into the small of his back.

The improvement was immeasurable, which probably explained Chuck's lack of hostility when he asked what exactly Becket thought he was doing in Chuck's recovery room at ass o'clock in the morning.

Subdued but not outright taciturn, the has-been shrugged. "Herc said you're having trouble sleeping through the night. I don't think I've slept through since my first jaeger run, so I thought I'd be here in case you woke up."

See? Always an excuse. Admittedly, that had been a pretty good one. Nice, in its way.

And then there's the eating and drinking thing. For all the times the creepy bastard has visited his room over the past two weeks, Chuck doesn't think he's seen Becket eat or drink anything. Of course, he didn't really grasp the concept  at the time, even when he accidentally called the bloke on it.

"God, what I wouldn't give for some of Tendo's coffee right now. I am having serious withdrawals."

The bastard looked up from his book -- a different one, and if reading enormous tomes fast enough that he was already well into another one doesn't say something, Chuck doesn't know what does -- and raised his eyebrows. "Is it different from the mess hall coffee?"

Appalled at such obliviousness, Chuck grunted. "Was Slattern a wee bit bigger than Trespasser, mate?"

Becket rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I never drink... coffee."

Something about that little pause struck him, and he narrowed his eyes. "You got a problem with coffee, then?"

The whacker shrugged. "Insomniac, remember? It'd be a little counterproductive."

He hadn't thought of it at the time, but now, Chuck is hardpressed to remember Raleigh ever drinking anything in his presence. Or eating, for that matter. Might explain why the bloke is so damn skinny and pale, but somehow, Chuck doubts that. If Becket's starving himself, he wouldn't be so goddamn quick with his freaky, cat-like reflexes.

Nope. Raleigh Becket definitely has some other form of sustenance than normal people food. It sure as hell explains the little pause after saying he doesn't drink.

Worse, now that Chuck really thinks back on those nighttime conversations -- and the several others, because Becket didn't show up _every_ night, but he did occupy that awful chair a lot more than every _other_ night -- with his new hypothesis in mind, he notes that he's never seen Raleigh's ear bleed again. Just the once. Just during the day.

Has he ever seen Becket outside during the daytime? He's seen him _awake_ during the day plenty of times, but awake inside a giant metal building or inside a giant metal robot, either of which would fully shield him from the sun's fury. Admittedly, he's pretty sure the bastard had arrived at the Shatterdome during the day, but it had been overcast and pouring down rain at the time. Would that have provided enough cover for a vampire out and about during the day?

Come to think of it, he's only seen the ear-bleeding thing once. Hmm. Raleigh's been awake in normal people hours enough times that Chuck surely would have seen the bleeds more than that.

But maybe Becket had just been up too long that day for his body to handle. Or had been watching over Chuck several days in a row instead of sealing himself in his metal coffin of a bunk and dying for a few hours.

That idea should probably freak him out, but... Chuck can't help but feel a little... okay with it. With Creepy Fucking Becket guarding his drugged sleep to the point that his undead body starts to give out a little.

He ponders this briefly, then shoves it aside. He doesn't want to look at that one too closely.

Luckily, another bit of potential proof steals his attention, because if the continual -- if downright fugly -- array of ratty old sweaters are any indication, Becket is always cold. He's certainly always pale. Even during the copilot trials, the has-been had sweated plenty, but hadn't flushed with exertion.

Hell, even while throwing Chuck a beatdown he'd not soon forget, the whacker hadn't so much as pinked in the cheeks, though they'd both been furious and panting. Well, they'd both been furious. Now that Chuck's focusing on the memory, he doesn't remember Raleigh doing all that much panting.

As if the short but pleasantly epic fight hadn't taken much effort. As if Becket had freakish undead strength and stamina to go along with those inhuman reflexes.

_It's all coming together._

But Chuck is a more methodical man these days, and even when the idea occurs and starts to feel irrefutable, he acknowledges that it's all supposition.

Maybe Raleigh's just a good-natured insomniac who enjoys entertaining injured, sporadically caustic fellow pilots in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe he's an insanely fast reader, which would explain why he's read more than one giant novel in a normal human lifespan, let alone in a couple of weeks. Maybe working construction -- wait, had the bastard been outside during the daytime while working on the Wall? no, wait; fucking Alaska, where the sun is in the sky about as frequently as Haley's Comet makes its appearance -- had kept him in such good condition that all that fighting really wasn't a normal human strain.

The ear-bleeding thing still gets him, though. That was fucking weird. And, seriously, the fucker hadn't been breathing. Chuck would bet his noon morphine dose on it.

And then there's... how he looks.

Squirming a bit, Chuck shoots a glance at the currently empty chair at his bedside and lets himself think about what he has effectively ignored until this point. If he weren't trying to prove a theory, he'd keep right on ignoring it, but... Raleigh Becket is fucking _captivating_.

Groaning a little, he lets his head fall back to the mound of pillows. He has deliberately put this part of his musings off until the middle of the fucking day when he guesses Becket is statistically least likely to barge in and catch Chuck thinking about thick blonde hair and electric blue eyes and that totally ripped body and how the drivesuit scars look damn near artistic for all that Chuck knows they'd hurt like a bitch when made and probably still ache in poor weather.

And that's another thing: how the fuck did Becket survive Knifehead? The physical injuries had been bad enough and had left plenty of scars, but to survive his brother dying in his head? To survive the rest of the fight piloting solo? To drag the juddering scrapheap Gipsy had been afterwards all the way to shore and still be able to walk out of the giant hole in the conn pod?

And how the fuck did Becket survive a trip into another world? Blowing that other world all to hell? Shooting up through the collapsing Breach with no oxygen and inadequate pressurization?

Un. Fucking. Dead.

It's the only possible answer. Raleigh Becket is a fucking vampire.

So... what should he do about it?

He's still gnawing over potential courses of action when the sun goes down, and nervousness makes him too twitchy to sleep. What if he falls to sleep and wakes up to Becket sucking his blood? As far as he knows -- and yes, he's checked his neck every morning since he started seriously considering the possibility -- that hasn't happened yet, but it could. Any ol' time. It isn't like Chuck's in any condition to defend himself.

Then again, the fucker really is alluring as hell. What if he doesn't _want_ to defend himself? A little shiver goes through him at the thought, and he isn't sure if it's a good shiver or a bad shiver.

Becket's lips look pretty soft, after all. Will it feel like a kiss until the teeth sink in?

Fuck, now he's getting a hard-on. He's been bespelled. Raleigh Fucking Vampire Becket has him in his thrall.

He needs some holy water. And crosses. Lots of crosses. And garlic. Garlic repels vampires, right?

"Chuck?"

He looks up, his eyes wide and panicked as he realizes that the moment is upon him. Raleigh Fucking Vampire Becket is standing in his doorway, head cocked to one side, staring at him with those electric, magnetic blue eyes.

"Are you okay? You look...."

The undead freak glides -- glides! -- over to the bedside and puts the back of a cool hand to Chuck's forehead, and he wants to cringe away from the touch but he can't help but lean into it, instead. The coolness feels so good against his skin, which is suddenly much too hot. Fucking evil vampire powers!

"Seriously, Chuck. You're worrying me. Do you have a fever or something? You don't feel _that_ warm--"

Overwhelmed, Chuck snatches the bastard's hand away and yanks him down to all but sprawl over him. Becket tries to catch himself but ends up bracketing Chuck's chest instead, and, lost to all reason at this point, Chuck leans up and catches those soft, taunting lips with his own.

"Chuck, what the--"

Another kiss, and when the vampire pulls away, Chuck slides his fingers into that thick, blonde hair to hold him close, drunk on the taste of warm, silken lips and, dear God, that _mouth_. If Vampire Becket wants to drink him with that mouth, Chuck will gladly open whatever vein the bastard wants.

For one glorious moment, Raleigh kisses him back with more heat than can be imagined under that pale, cool exterior, and it's everything Chuck has hoped and feared it would be. Deep, thorough, and just a little bit rough, the kiss is consuming. Mind-numbing. Fucking beautiful.

But unlike Raleigh, Chuck needs to breathe, and he eventually breaks away to do so, falling back to his pillows to gasp and try to regain his scattered thoughts, idly trying to pull the vampire into bed with him.

For some reason, said vampire isn't getting with the program.

Squinting one eye open and immediately caught by the sight of his undead soon-to-be-lover licking langorously over his own lower lip, eyes closed, face relaxed with pleasure, Chuck moans. "It's alright, Ray. You don't have to hide from me. I _know_ , mate. I want it."

A line creases the vampire's forehead, and Raleigh blinks his eyes open and cocks his head to one side. It's as adorable as ever, and Chuck gives him another tug in hopes of getting that big body sprawled over his own so he can kiss the confused expression away.

And still, the bastard resists.

"I... it's not exactly a secret, Chuck. I mean...."

Frowning a little, he feels some of the spell fade with Raleigh's shifting attention. "Wait... people _know?_ I mean... who...?"

Becket shrugs. "You know, obviously. Mako knows, of course. Uh... I think Tendo does. I mean, he's known me half of forever, so--"

Eyes wide, Chuck frankly gapes. "Tendo's one, too?"

"What? No!" Drawing back from Chuck's loosening grasp, the big idiot frowns. "He just... it's not that easy to hide from your friends, ya know?"

And yet, Chuck had only figured it out in the past week or so. Admittedly, he and Becket hadn't exactly been friendly before Pitfall, but still. He feels a little bad at the assertion that a friend would have known.

"So... you were turned before you became a Ranger...?"

The poor bastard blinks again, looking completely lost. Adorable as hell, but fucking lost. "Turned? I don't... I mean... I don't think it really works that way, does it? I... ya know... I've always been this way."

Chuck's eyes widen. "Oh, fuck, you were _born_ a vampire?"

Electric blue eyes flare wide. "Wait, _what??_ "

It's Chuck's turn to blink in confusion. "...What?"

Something... flips over in Becket's expression, and the full, silken lips twitch. "You... Chuck, are you saying... do you think I'm a... vampire?"

Eyeing the bastard, unsure what that expression means, Chuck grunts. "Well, yeah. Duh."

Okay, so he doesn't expect Becket to throw back his head and laugh loud enough to wake the dead. In fact, that reaction isn't even on his list of possibilities, and he has no clue what to make of it. He'd expected some bloodletting by this point. Maybe even sex.

Or maybe he'd just hoped for sex. It's been a damn long time.

"What's so damn funny, Becket?"

The fuckwit only laughs harder, stumbling back a step to fall into the handy chair.

"Seriously, what the fuck? You're acting like you're _not_ a vampire."

Another spate of laughter, and the fucker hugs his stomach with one arm and puts the other over his eyes.

"Oi, I fucking have proof! I'm trying to be fucking accepting here, ya wanker! You're lucky I didn't stake you and cut your head off the second I figured you out!"

Groaning and gasping as his laughter winds down, Vampire Fucking Becket swipes the baggy sleeve of his fugly sweater over his face. "Oh, God, Chuck... I have not laughed that hard in... fuck, I don't even know." Another burst of chuckles that thankfully don't cycle down into more outright laughter. "Heheh, I wouldn't have even had a clue why you were trying to kill me this time. Good God."

Grumbling, Chuck crosses his arms, careful of all the goddamn wires and tubes. "Don't count your blessings yet, fuckface. I'm edging back that way."

"Oh, man." Another chuckle. "I... whew, I'm sorry, Chuck, but that was beautiful." Another swipe of the baggy sweater arm, and one watery blue eye peers at him, amusement crinkling the skin at the edges, Becket's full lips twitching at the corners. "I probably shouldn't ask, but... you said something about proof?"

Goaded by the bastard's proximity to another laughing fit, Chuck glares. "What the fuck time is it, Becket? Have you ever shown your stupid face in my room in the daytime, other than that first day when your fucking ears bled because of it?"

A snort. "Seriously? I told you: I'm an insomniac. And your dad knows that and asked me if I'd mind checking on you once in a while if I was already up. And my ear was bleeding because of the pressure thing. Your doctor is my doctor. Ask him."

"Yeah, so you said. Why hasn't it done it since?"

The bastard rolls his eyes. "So now it's a bad thing that my ear's _not_ bleeding?"

"That's not the only thing, fuckwit. I've never seen you eat or drink anything. Never once in the whole time you've been here. Explain that."

"You saw me eat my first day!"

"The fuck I did!"

Becket's eyes narrow. "You may not remember because you were too busy being a shit, but I very distinctly remember eating right in front of you because I was tempted to spit half-chewed eggroll on your shirt."

Chuck's eyes narrow, too. "I have no memory of that."

"Yeah. You've hit your head a few times since then. Hell, _I've_ hit your head a few times since then. We're really supposed to trust your memory over mine?"

"Your brain was leaking out your ears like a week ago!"

Clearly, Becket has no rebuttal and settles for pressing his lips together.

"Exactly. And just how old are you, Ray? Tell the truth."

Blue eyes narrow. "Twenty-seven. Why would I lie?"

Chuck snorts. "More like a hundred twenty-seven. How many books have you read in all that time? Who even reads books anymore? About World War II, which was like a hundred years ago?"

"Oh, God, not the book thing again. Seriously, it's not that big a book--"

"And you're always pale and cold and, for Chrissake, do you ever fucking blush? _Can_ you even?"

Becket blinks, wide-eyed. "I don't... what does that even mean?"

"Don't gimme that, mate. It's a perfectly fucking normal temperature in here right now, and you're in a goddamn sweater. A goddamn ugly sweater, but that's besides the point."

Still blinking wide eyes, the bastard glances down at said ugly sweater.

"You just laughed your ass off _in a fucking sweater_ , and you're still the same goddamn color you always are. That is not normal. Not _human_."

Unfortunately, Becket seems to have stopped listening at some point to rub a hand over the bulky, no-color mess covering his stomach and chest. "...This was Yancy's sweater."

Well, fuck. Chuck can't hide his wince.

"They all are. Well, the ones that aren't PPDC issue." The bloke doesn't raise his eyes from where his fingers trace the twist of the cableknit. "He was always cold, and I always made fun of him for it. Like, you live in Alaska, Yance. How are you still cold? Then, when he... was gone... I just kinda started wearing them. They still smelled like him." A careful shrug. "I guess I probably got all sweaty at first, but... now I kinda get chilly if I'm not wearing one."

Chuck doesn't dare open his mouth. He's not so far gone as to pick at that kind of wound. Especially not with that gut-wrenching expression on Raleigh's face.

After a long, quiet moment, Becket finally glances up with a tiny, forced smile. "So that's it, then? That's your proof?"

He clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. "No. There's... but I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

Becket raises an eyebrow. "Seriously, what? Let's get it all out there."

This shift is more of a squirm. "Fuck off, Becket. If you wanna pretend you're not a vampire, that's fine by me. Your secret's safe. Just warn me before you bleed me, yeah?"

Looking a bit more like himself, the bloke rolls his eyes. "Chuck, I'm not a vampire. I've given you perfectly rational explanations for all of your so-called proof. I think you need to talk to your doctor about your medications making you paranoid. And delusional."

"I'm not delusional!"

A small smirk. "You're not denying that you're paranoid?"

"Fuck you, Becket! I know what I know!"

"And what do you think you know?"

"Drop it."

"C'mon. I have to know now."

Gritting his jaw, Chuck glares at the fuckwit and refuses to answer.

"Chuck."

Nothing in this world or the next will pull his last ace from up his sleeve.

"Chuuuuuuuck."

A muscle in his cheek twitches from how hard his jaw is clenched.

"Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck Chuck _Chuuuuuu_ \--"

"You're unnaturally fucking alluring, alright? Now shut the fuck up before I find a way to stake you with my bendy straw, ya wanker!"

Eyes so wide they should probably fall out of their sockets, Becket frankly boggles. "I'm what now?"

"I've wanted to fuck you pretty much since you walked into the jaeger bay, and that's not fucking natural!"

Whoops. He... never really meant to let that bit out. Blushing so hard his ears feel like they're on fire, Chuck yanks one of the pillows from behind his back and hauls it down over his face. When the pillow tries to remove itself, he struggles to keep it in place, damn near suffocating himself and not sure that isn't the intention all along.

"Leave me alone, Becket! I revoke your invitation to my room!"

The pillow turns traitor on him and yanks out of his still-weak grasp, and of course Raleigh Fucking Becket is standing right fucking there, looking down at him with... amusement? No, fondness? Maybe fondness. Amused fondness.

"It was broad daylight when Mako hauled me out of my escape pod, Chuck."

Despite his mortification, he can't help but frown. Had he known that?

"Barely a cloud in the sky. Sun beating down on us."

Then... what...?

Becket's lips are just as warm and silken as before, but this time, Chuck doesn't hold him in place. Raleigh just... stays. Lingers.

"You're seriously not a vampire?"

Those lips curve against his own. "I'm seriously not a vampire."

Another kiss. Chuck allows it, his mind whirling.

"Then... why did I just admit that I want to fuck you?"

Raleigh sighs and leans his cool forehead against Chuck's. It feels nice. "I'm gonna go with you being on a metric fuckton of drugs." Another small kiss, just a brush of lips, really. "Which is why I'm gonna go sit in that chair over there until you're less medicated and I'm sure you don't still think I'm a vampire."

He makes a sound in his throat that is perilously close to a whine. "Dammit. I was all looking forward to the biting thing."

And sex. But apparently, he's not completely without a filter because he manages to not say that one aloud.

He's pretty sure, anyway. Becket doesn't call him on it if he does.

The bastard does, however, chuckle as he retakes his seat and pulls out his ridiculously enormous book. "God, I hope you remember this later. I will never stop giving you shit about the time you thought I was a vampire."

"Raaaaaay...."

"I can hear it now." Oh, the smug in that tone. "We'll be sitting in the mess, and you'll be being a jackass -- ya know, being yourself -- and I'll smile and say, 'Hey, remember that time you thought I was a vampire? Man, that was good times. Especially the part where you thought I was unnaturally alluring.'"

"Dammit, Ray--"

"I own you now, Hansen."

Thankfully, the pillow picks that moment to replace itself over his face, and Chuck can only hope it has the balls to finish the job this time. Fuck his life.

Seriously. Fuck his life.

Then again, maybe he _will_ speak to his doctor about reducing his meds. It may be the drug haze talking, but, if he's putting all the pieces together correctly, he needs to be less medicated to get Raleigh out of that chair and into his bed.

As he drifts off to sleep with a pillow over his face and the comforting knowledge that Becket's right there, watching over him, Chuck can only wonder if the doctor takes calls at midnight.

It's been a damn long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I give up. I'm back to writing fanfiction. These guys are too much fun to write. DAMMIT.


End file.
